Page 27 of Flashover

Then, a concussive boom tears across camp, shattering the silence. A wave of molten light crashes over the horizon, brighter than dawn, as the first thermite charge detonates. It splinters reality: igniting hose lines like brittle fuses, flipping water rigs with brutal force, and sending flame sheeting across trailers and fuel caches. The ground bucks underfoot. Shouts erupt. Fire devours everything before the drill whistle even has a chance to scream.

Hell doesn’t knock. It kicks the damn door in.

CHAPTER 11

KADE

Ash still swirls over the camp, a blizzard from hell—thick, choking haze that settles in lungs and coats every surface in gray grit. Liv and I slip past the wrecked hose rigs—metal husks still steaming in places—and climb the ridge, boots crunching over blackened glass where thermite kissed and devoured the earth. Heat lingers in pockets underfoot, forcing us to step with care. I keep my body half-turned toward her, adopting a shield posture, my shoulder brushing hers as we move. My ears track every scrape of her boot on fractured stone, every dissonant note in the wounded night. Beneath the smoke, something feral stirs in me—protective, on edge, ready to burn for her if I have to.

“Sniper could still be up here,” Liv whispers.

“He is,” I answer, scenting cordite on the wind. “And he’s not alone.”

Three—what I can only assume are Ignis mercs—pivot from a basalt outcrop—polymer rifles, foam-round silencers. The leader squeezes off a shot first. I shove Liv sideways and feel the round strike against my ribs, a blunt impact with the weight of a rubber mallet. It hurts, but the dragon beneath my skin drinks pain the way a forge drinks air.

Liv hits the pumice slope, rolls with practiced grace, and comes up in a low crouch, her Pulaski clenched in a reverse grip, gleaming dully in the fractured moonlight. Her muscles tighten with lethal precision, her stance low and braced, eyes scanning for the next threat with the silent intent of a predator ready to strike. That weapon isn't just for show—she could use the axe head to crush a skull, the pick to shatter bone, the blade to cleave through whatever Ignis throws at us. Gods, she’s gorgeous—deadly and defiant, a wildfire in human form.

“Stay low,” I growl.

“Bite me,” she snaps, eyes flashing with reckless fire.

"I'm not sure you mean that the way I'd like you to mean it," I say with a predatory grin.

Her muscles bunch, and in a blur of motion, she surges toward the nearest shooter. Boots slam against the gritty slope, the air around her vibrating with raw intent. Her Pulaski gleams as she lifts it, every line of her body a promise of violence and survival. Time stutters. I can only watch—the woman I would burn the world for, charging straight into its flames.

A second merc fires. I drop to a knee, palms digging into grit as the air around me superheats. I unleash a surge of draconic heat, the exhalation rippling outward with a crack like thunder. Dust and ash erupt in a blinding bloom, cloaking the slope in white and gold haze. Liv doesn’t hesitate—her Pulaski arcs through the chaos, burying in the merc’s visor with a sickening crunch. I surge forward, vision seared and instinct ruling, fists colliding with bone and polymer. The first assailant’s rifle snaps against my forearm as I slam into him, jaw dislocating beneath my knuckles. The second stumbles backward, but not fast enough—I drive a punch into his gut, lifting him off his feet. Their radios sputter a rising panic, static crackling with the sharp edge of fear.

But more boots hammer down the slope—rapid, aggressive, too many to count. The ground trembles beneath their approach, grit vibrating under our feet. The sharp staccato of combat boots on volcanic rock pounds like war drums, each step signaling a fresh wave of enemies surging into the breach, relentless in their advance.

“Cave,” I shout. “Go!”

We sprint through a split in the ridge, diving into volcanic dark just as fresh rounds rake the entrance in a hail of searing noise. The mouth of the cavern yawns open beneath us, big enough to run hunched through, its obsidian-veined walls catching the flicker of distant flame like jagged black mirrors. Each breath pulls in the sharp tang of sulfur and scorched minerals, the steam rising in ghostly tendrils from heat vents spider-webbed into the cavern floor. The air is thick and damp, the ground still warm with the memory of magma—nature’s own forge, humming with ancient power, dangerous and alive beneath our feet.

Liv presses against the basalt, chest heaving. “Outnumbered, under-armed. Got any more miracles, dragon-man?”

Time’s up. No more secrets.

The words resonate deep within me, heavy and rhythmic, impossible to ignore. I take a slow step forward into the pale shimmer of heat-glow bleeding from the cave, letting her see the burn in my eyes—the truth I’ve hidden, the fire I’ve denied. The air thickens with rising heat as if the cave itself braces for what I’m about to become. Liv’s breath stutters, and I don’t miss the way her fingers twitch toward her weapon, a tell-tale flare of fear. But she doesn’t run. She sees me. Not just the man. The dragon. And in that suspended heartbeat, I know there’s no going back.

I step into the faint glow, eyes flooding with fire, and in that fleeting instant, I think she sees the truth—not just with hereyes, but something deeper. Her breath catches, pupils dilating, one step faltering as if her instincts recognize the fire in me before her mind can catch up. Awe flickers across her features, chased by a trace of fear—and something far more primal.

“Miracles, no. Truth? Yes.” I let my aura bloom around my silhouette—small, contained—lighting the cavern like sunrise caught in crystal.

Her eyes widen but she doesn’t retreat. Brave, reckless woman. “Show me, then.”

I strip the tactical shirt, let it drop, and feel scales threaten beneath skin. “My kind claims once. For life. The pendant was the first tether. The next is scar and soul.”

Her pulse jumps. “What does claiming mean for me?”

“Everything,” I say, voice roughening with ancient vow. “My fire marks you… binds us. Your life threads through mine. No pain, only power. But I need your yes.”

She lifts her chin, smoky lashes trembling. “I already chose you on an anvil, Kade. I choose you again. Yes.”

Heat courses relentlessly through my veins, a scorching river of fire. It races beneath my skin, igniting every nerve ending as my body braces for the sacred act. I press Liv firmly against the basalt wall, feel her chest rise against mine, fast and unsteady. Her breath ghosts over my throat, lips parted, caught between anticipation and awe.

My hand slips beneath her shirt and unclasps her bra, my fingertips grazing the fabric before I ease it away. Her skin radiates warmth against my palm as I cup her bare breast, the heat of her body anchoring me in this moment of searing clarity. Her gasp escapes—a delicious mix of surprise and hunger—as her nails graze down my back, sending electric shudders through us both.

The golden light enveloping my skin flares brighter, like molten veins cast in sacred fire, illuminating the cavern withethereal intensity. I press her firmly against the cool basalt wall, and my thumb finds her nipple, pebbling instantly under my touch. She trembles—an exquisite ripple of anticipation and surrender—and her breath hitches, catching in her throat as I draw her closer.

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